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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948289">my love is (not) a weapon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything'>ShippingEverything</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>his royal highness prince calroy rocks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dimension 20 (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Courting Rituals, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sparring, a little homoerotic sword fighting, by which i mean the swordfighting, some gentle 'amethar likes it when his partners are strong and can beat him' headcanoning, some light 'amethar has adhd' implications</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:40:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Fine! I like it, are you happy now, Your Majesty?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Amethar is. It fills his chest enough that he wants to slam Calroy up against the wall and kiss him senseless, no matter what the Candian elders say about propriety and proper courting behavior.</i>
</p><p>or: an afternoon with his majesty the king and his intended</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>his royal highness prince calroy rocks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my love is (not) a weapon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i was trying to finish this before sam went to sleep but then i started rewatching coc and, well, y'all can guess how that went. anyway! i have too many calroy thoughts and i figured i could write One prince cal fic that wasnt from the pov of master actor calroy, so here's a fic where everything legitimately feels soft and romantic (there are like Two lines that imply that amethar might be into knifeplay and no i will not apologize for them)</p><p>title from dbmk's <i>crush</i></p><p>please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Amethar’s study is the one room of Castle Candy that is entirely his own. The brassy rancher-wood orange of his desk, the paintings of battlefields on the walls, the bookshelf bearing only atlases; it’s all picked out by him, all only for him.</p><p>“This one is a lot of whining about the consequences of something that we told him not to do three seasons ago. Want me to read it to you now or later?”</p><p>Him, and Cal. Calroy is perched on the edge of his desk as he goes through Amethar’s mail, slowly swinging one leg back and forth. The letter he has in hand bears the seal of a minor lord that Amethar <em>does</em> vaguely remember advising during a banquet last Highharvest, though Amethar mostly just remembers the way Cal had held onto his arm and whispered relevant bits of gossip to him all evening. Now, Amethar leans back in his desk chair and sighs.</p><p>“Is it important?”</p><p>“It’s not <em>not</em> important. We’re going to have to fix his mess eventually so we might as well stay up to date on it,” Calroy says. After a moment’s pause he glances at Amethar over the letter and hums, face softening. “But it can wait a while longer. What’s up?”</p><p>“I don’t think I can focus on these reports any longer without breaking something,” Amethar replies, and it’s only half a joke. It feels like there’s something beneath his skin, hot and fizzling and inescapable, and if he doesn’t do something that requires more movement than sitting in a chair listening to Calroy talk then he might explode.</p><p>“This wouldn’t be a great place to break things in,” Calroy agrees. His smile changes, grows mischievous as he lowers his voice and asks, “Do you wanna spar?”</p><p>“<em>‘Do I wanna spar?’</em> What kind of question is that! Of course I do,” Amethar is out of his chair with Payment Day over his shoulder in a heartbeat. Amethar is technically not supposed to be sparring, he was told when he was given the crown that it was 'too much of a risk,' that he could supervise drills from the side but could no longer participate in them. Still, Amethar’s found that no matter how many times someone <em>tells</em> him to do something, none of them can <em>make</em> him change his behavior. Not anymore.</p><p>Calroy hops off the desk and brushes the creases out of his pants, the movement drawing Amethar’s attention to the thick golden ring on Calroy’s thumb. Amethar is grinning before he’s done noticing, before his eyes leave the chevron curve of it or the delicately etched vines. It fits Cal’s style but still stands out next to the cool greens and creams he favors, a spot of well-suited opulence in his best friend’s humble fashion. Amethar loves it, has loved it since he commissioned the ring from a local jewelry smith, and he loves even more to see it on Calroy.</p><p>“You’re wearing it again?” Amethar asks as they fall into step in the hall, gesturing towards Calroy’s hand. Calroy ducks his head away, but not before Amethar sees that he’s smiling as well.</p><p>“It was a gift,” Calroy says, voice Court-steady despite how he still doesn’t look Amethar in the eye. “Do you think I’d be so rude as to ignore a gift?”</p><p>“You would wear a gift so often out of courtesy?”</p><p>Calroy huffs but he’s smiling ever so slightly in that way that he only ever lets Amethar see. “Fine! I like it, you picked a good courting gift. Are you happy now, <em>Your Majesty</em>?”</p><p>Amethar is. It fills his chest enough that he can barely feel the hollows that grief and anger have carved into his heart, makes him want to slam Calroy up against the wall and kiss him senseless, no matter what the Candian elders say about <em>propriety</em> and <em>proper courting behavior</em>.</p><p>He settles for bumping his arm against Calroy’s and grinning like a fool. “Yes, for now.”</p><p>If someone had told Amethar ten years ago that he’d be walking the halls of Castle Candy with his intended, his father’s crown atop his head, he would’ve punched them. Even if someone had told Amethar just a few years ago, when he was in the trenches of a war and Calroy had kissed him for the first time, he wouldn’t have believed it; Amethar wasn’t exactly <em>chaste</em> during the War, ready, willing, and able to try just about anything with just about anyone, but most of his mid-War escapades were with people who he wouldn’t have significant contact with: commonfolk in small towns or other soldiers who were sure to be cool about it. Calroy was -- <em>is</em> -- different, because they were friends first and friends after, because he never asked for a <em>more</em> that Amethar was unable to give. In fact, after that first whirlwind hookup, Cal never approached him like that again, though Amethar wouldn’t have minded if he had; but, well, it was the War, and then there was <em>everything else</em>, and Amethar is just glad they’ve made it to this point, eventually.</p><p>They don’t go to the main training yard, because the Tartguard should be running drills right now and Amethar can only stand so much tickling with swords in the background of his relaxing afternoon spar, but settle into a smaller courtyard.</p><p>“Sparring rapiers or our normal weapons?” Calroy asks, though the way he’s already unsheathed his saber means that he knows what Amethar is going to say.</p><p>“I’ve never used a training sword with you and I don’t ever intend to.”</p><p>Calroy grins, bright as the glare of the sun off his sword, and gets into a ready position. “Have at thee, then.”</p><p>Fighting with Cal is a bit like dancing. Amethar was taught to wield a sword alongside the guard, though his personal style evolved to turn his strength even more into broad strikes and brute force during the War. Amethar doesn’t know where Calroy grew up or how he learned to fight, and the shadow that passes over Calroy’s face whenever he’s asked about his family or his past makes Amethar reluctant to probe, but he fights like he barely has to touch the ground, leaping and spinning and somehow managing to be everywhere with a parry or a slice. It’s exhilarating and centering.</p><p>Amethar settles into the duel, moving on instinct and muscle memory until he missteps and Cal’s able to trip him. Calroy puts a knee on Amethar’s heaving chest and his blade to Amethar’s throat, the warm sunlight making Calroy’s hair glow like a rosy halo.</p><p>“Got you,” Cal says, his voice low and weighted, like he’s pinning Amethar with his words as well as his weight. “Do you yield?”</p><p>Amethar tries to speak but his mouth is so dry that it comes out as an embarrassing squeak. He clears his throat. His voice still seems strained when he manages to say, “I yield.”</p><p>Calroy blinks, then moves, not to put down his sword but to lean in. Amethar swallows thickly and Cal’s saber moves with his throat; sun-warm, solid, sharp in a way that makes Amethar’s stomach flutter. Calroy’s eyes are dark, pupils wide.</p><p>“I appreciate My Majesty's submission,” Calroy murmurs, and then he leans down and presses his lips to Amethar’s. He starts gently, almost tentative, but when Amethar’s hands move automatically to Calroy’s hips, Cal takes it as an invitation to deepen their kiss and Amethar feels for a moment like he can’t breathe.</p><p>Calroy’s thighs straddle Amethar’s waist to press ever closer and Amethar arches off the ground to meet him, their mouths falling open and breath mixing as one peck flows seamlessly into desperate, delighted making out. After what feels like a small eternity, Calroy pulls back and Amethar, even through his soft love-struck daze, realizes that his difficulties with breathing were, in part, because Calroy’s sword was still trapped between them; Amethar’s neck now features a shallow but long cut, bleeding sluggishly. Calroy all but throws the sword away when he notices.</p><p>“Oh, Amethar, I’m sorry-”</p><p>Amethar cuts him off with another kiss, short and sweet. “It’s fine, Cal. Hey, maybe it’ll scar, then I’ll have even more reason to remember today.”</p><p>Calroy huffs but he still presses gentle fingers to the wound, an admiring look in his eyes. Amethar decides to count it as a win.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks so much for reading! comments, kudos, and bookmarks make me more powerful so that i too can one day find a hot man to hate-marry and then throw off parapet!</p><p><a href="http://www.pldubrahs.tumblr.com">Main Tumblr (pldubrahs)</a> | <a href="http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/">Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)</a> | <a href="http://twitter.com/squidias">Twitter (@squidias)</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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